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Bedlam and Lamb
Lamb lets out a quiet sigh of frustration as the last of the golden blades disappear into the ether. On the floor is Bob’s severed head, which looks to have been neatly sliced off at the neck. Seven feet away, his right leg lies in small heap near northeast corner of the large stone room. Bartholomew crouches down carefully to survey the carnage, his knees making a barely audible popping noise. “Well… At least it was a quick death this time.”, says Shepherd in a slightly amused voice. Lamb stares intently at his right hand while flexing his fingers, as if attempting to make it surrender through sheer force of will. With a minor grunt of effort that only people approaching a certain age make, Shepherd stands back up and puts a comforting hand on Lamb’s shoulder. “You’ll need to curb that rage if you’re going to control your powers properly.”, rebukes Shepherd gently as he walks towards Bob’s right leg. His boots make small thump-clink noises as they hit the stone floor at a deliberate pace. Lamb squeezes the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes tight, as if to will away an unpleasant memory. He immediately stops and puts his hand down, but he knows that even though Shepherd isn’t looking at him, this reaction has already been noted. Shepherd never missed anything. It could get annoying sometimes. “Someone like you can’t afford to be angry and lose control. The cost would be… too high.”, Shepherd says as he reverently picks up Bob’s leg. He then makes his way to Bob’s head, whose dark eyes stare lifelessly up at Shepherd. With an apologetic smile, he picks up Bob’s head with his remaining free hand and places both on the elderwood stand, where the rest of his body is propped up. Shepherd carefully lays a hand on Bob’s remains. His breathing instantly relaxes as golden spirals of energy slowly cascade down his arm and begin to suffuse Bob’s remains with a cheery, yet gentle glow. Bob’s head and right leg begin to knit themselves to their proper places. After a minute, the light fades and gives way to the dull torchlight that illuminates the room. Shepherd steps back to view his handiwork and nods in approval. He pats the old training dummy on the head. “Once more into the breach, old chum.”, says Shepherd affectionately. As Shepherd walks back to Lamb’s side, Lamb holds up his right index finger expectantly. Shepherd nods and touches his own right index finger to Lamb’s. At the moment of contact, the intricate tattoos on their hands come to life and begin to pulse softly with magical energies, one a comforting golden hue reminiscent of a beautiful sunset, the other a sharp blue that crackles with harsh, untamed menace. Lamb sends a general feeling of frustration, mixed with tones of impatience and restlessness to Shepherd. Shepherd drops his index finger slowly and smiles indulgently, like a grandfather humoring a favored grandson. “I know. I would feel the same way too if I was cooped up in a dark, underground room with nothing but musty spellbooks and a demanding old teacher for company. I’ll tell you what. If you finish pattern thirty-two today and manage to keep Bob alive, I’ll get May to put you in a disguise so that you can go and explore the town tomorrow.” Lamb’s eyes brighten with excitement. “Provided that you have a couple of our friends with you to keep you safe.”, finishes Shepherd gently, but firmly. Lamb lets out a little huff and frowns slightly at the idea, as if claiming that he can take care of himself. Shepherd smiles to himself at this reaction, as if looking back at a time when he was young enough to feel that he was invincible. “Now, now. You know that we have to be vigilant at all times. The God Emperor is looking for you, after all.” Lamb nods reluctantly, obviously still not fully convinced that he needs the protection. He is, after all, quite possibly going to grow up to be the most powerful being in the realm. At least, according to the seers. Still, he is happy that he is be able to go outside for a change. He wonders absent-mindedly if he will be able to pass by Miss Elizabeth’s bakery and eat another of her delicious brambleberry tarts. Those were his absolute favorite. He snaps out of his reverie when Shepherd clears his throat and speaks loudly to a shadow in the room. “Bedlam, if you have enough time to watch us practice from the shadows, you certainly have enough time to practice with us.” At the mention of Bedlam’s name, Lamb becomes visibly uncomfortable. Ever since the group was told about Lamb and his place in the world, he’d always felt Bedlam’s eyes on him. Always in secret, watching his every move. Bedlam would always pretend not to care whenever he caught him looking, but there was something in his eyes that Lamb did not like. It reminded him of something… hungry. There was also the fact that it usually felt like Bedlam was always trying to compete with him, even though there was no competition in whatever it was they were doing. For instance, during spell handling exercises, he could tell that Bedlam was always counting who had hit more targets, even if the exercise was about fine control. During arcane studies, he had more than once felt that Bedlam was sneaking a peek at the tome that he was reading just to see what page he was on, as if to compare if he was the faster reader. Even during meal time, he observed that Bedlam always made sure that he ate more than him. He tries to shake the feeling off. Maybe it was just his imagination. Teenagers were weird, and they smelled funny. If this was what puberty was like, he didn’t want any part of it. Bedlam sheepishly steps out of the shadow that he had tried to hide quietly in, a slight clumsiness visible in the way he walks. He wasn’t quite used to his new adolescent body yet. His mind hasn’t had enough time to adjust to the sudden surge in height and appendage length, so he perpetually looked like he was on the verge of crashing into something very expensive and breaking it into a million pieces. “Stances.” The boys instantly fall into their ready stances, the smoothness in their movements revealing innumerable hours of theory and application. The clumsiness that was previously so noticeable in Bedlam disappears in an instant. He is in his element. Shepherd feels a small twinge of pride in his chest. “Remember, cantrips only. We wouldn’t want you suddenly becoming an old man like me, wouldn’t we, Bedlam?” Shepherd winks as golden streaks of energy begin to course through his body. Moving away from his students, he makes a wide arc with his hand, causing large and sharp shards of raw magic to materialize in the air, their shiny surfaces reflecting Bob’s impassive face. Lamb raises his right hand and points it in the general direction of the bright projectiles, his eyes igniting with a raging blue light that hints at a power that could consume the stars themselves if it so pleased. Not to be outdone, Bedlam triggers his own powers, causing forceful bursts of purple to encircle the area around him, the unmistakable threat of an explosion hanging in the air. Shepherd does not even need to look at the young boys to notice their power. He can feel them, even at this distance. “Begin.” Instantly, the air is a violent maelstrom of light and fury as golden blades are deflected from their intended target by blue bolts and fireballs streaked with purple. Shepherd smiles inwardly as he notices that at this current rate, he no longer has the freedom to inventory the different ales and spirits that they serve upstairs in his head, as he is too busy directing his magic to keep up with the flurry of energy that the boys are hurling at his shards. Pity. He could have used the spare time. He decides to push the boys a little further. More shards start appearing in mid-air. Five. Seven. Ten. Thirteen. All moving towards Bob, their razor-sharp edges glinting in the torchlight. If Bob were alive, this would have been a good moment for him to protest. The initial shock of the increased ferocity of the attack creates a small opening in the defense. Lamb looks briefly at Bob. Already, one of the shards has nicked the dummy’s face. He notes the exact increase in projectiles and presses the attack accordingly, delving a little deeper into his seemingly infinite well of power. He has delved deeper with no ill effects in the past, so he knows that there is no risk at this level. He spares a quick glance at Bedlam who is concentrating furiously at keeping the blades at bay while quite possibly keeping track of their scores in his head. He hasn’t been actively counting, but Lamb is confident that today, he is ahead by just a little. He has his heart set on a brambleberry tart, and he will move Somnium Penates to get it. Abruptly, Bedlam changes his stance. The repercussions of this act barely have time to register on Lamb’s mind before Shepherd moves to protest, already having seen the change and coming to the right conclusion in an instant. Still, he moves too late as Bedlam, not to be denied of his victory over Lamb, casts scorching ray and successfully obliterates three projectiles in that were closing in on the spot where Bob’s left kidney should be. In the next instant, Lamb feels something very cold go through his chest and looks down in shock to find that a purple surge of wild magic has smashed into him. He falls to his knees as a strong sensation of his life force bleeding out from his heart drains him of his strength. He closes his eyes for a brief second, his consciousness retreating into a warm and safe inner recess of his mind. A blue light rapidly begins to engulf his body. “No…” utters Shepherd in horror as the air around them begins to crackle audibly, saturated with magic. Shepherd and Bedlam feel the hairs on their bodies stand on end. Without warning, a pillar of raw power explodes upwards from Lamb’s body. In the infinitesimal instant before the energy would have hit the solid rock ceiling, large golden runes in complex patterns suddenly appear on every inch of the room. The arcane symbols seem barely able to keep the torrent of magic at bay, as barely two seconds have passed when some of the runes begin to flicker and large cracks start appearing on the ceiling. Already, Shepherd is in motion. With two quick movements, he rolls up his sleeves, revealing two sets of tattoos on both forearms. He puts his right forearm on top of his left, combining the two tattoos into a large, complicated symbol, which starts to glow with power. Shepherd begins chanting in an ancient language, his loud voice echoing around the chamber. The outward flow of energy stops as abruptly as it began. As the dust settles, Bedlam catches a glimpse of a great, man-shaped figure from across the room begin to rise, the economy and purposefulness of this simple movement revealing that it is something more than human. As it reaches its full height, an intricate pair of wings extend from behind it, the motion causing the dust around it to retreat violently. Deep in the glow of its blue eyes, a cold and calculating intelligence that cannot be Lamb is visible. Bedlam involuntarily closes his eyes, as it physically and spiritually hurts to stare at this… thing. He has enough time for one thought. “The Demon of Davenport.” In the next instant, Bedlam feels a huge hand close around his neck, lifting him some distance from the ground. He dares not open his eyes, but he can feel the creature’s own look through him, as if staring into his very soul. At that moment, the tattoos on his and the creature’s hands begin to glow. Immediately, Bedlam’s entire being is flooded with something that no mortal being has the ability to feel on its own: A vast emptiness resonating in an endless expanse of nothing. It is a state of being completely devoid of humanity. At that same moment, the creature experiences something that makes him hesitate from snapping this man-child in half for a split second. He holds only one human in his hand, but curiously, he feels two souls sharing this single body. One of the souls is young, barely more than an infant. It is the weaker of the two, and is completely overwhelmed by the sudden contact with his essence. The other one, however, the much older soul, resists with impressive tenacity. The old one’s thoughts bleed into his mind through the bridge between their souls. “Such power… What are you?” The split second is all the time that Shepherd needs. He pulls his forearms away from each other as he completes the spell. Thick, translucent walls of gold appear out of thin air and close around the creature, causing it to drop Bedlam, who collapses in a coughing heap on the ground. As Shepherd steps protectively in front of the boy, the creature starts punching the wall of the cube with such force that the entire room shakes, the muffled booms of each strike filling the air. Miniscule cracks begin to appear on the wall as the cube floats with purpose to the middle of the room. With fast, complicated hand gestures, Shepherd creates an enormous magic circle on the floor, with the cube set in its exact center. At the sight of this, the creature redoubles its efforts, hitting the wall with a fury that causes the already existing cracks to spread at an alarming rate. Shepherd’s brow is knotted in concentration, sweat trickling down his face. His nose begins to drip heavy droplets of blood. He concentrates with all of his considerable willpower and ignores the agony that he suffers with every fibre of his being. The booming noise stops abruptly as the creature raises his hand in a manner that makes Shepherd think of Lamb. An inconceivable amount of energy begins to gather in a ball at his palm. As it gathers intensity, it seems to suck the light from the room, causing everything to fade into the background. The creature aims its palm at Shepherd, preparing to release the concentrated sphere of magic. In that instant Shepherd stops moving and stares the creature dead in the eyes. “Begone.” Shepherd says with steel in his voice that not many have had the misfortune of hearing. He claps his hands together with a final crack, and the creature begins to disintegrate into small bits of blue dust. With an unearthly roar of anguish, the creature releases the energy from its palm. With only a moment to react, Shepherd spreads his arms to shield Bedlam from the blast. The explosion is massive. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Bedlam opens his eyes to see Shepherd down on one knee, arms still outstretched and his back turned towards him. Through the shredded remains of Shepherd’s tunic, Bedlam can see a large, glowing tattoo amongst a constellation of scars. There is a loud clinking noise in the air, reminiscent of the sound of shattering glass, albeit on a much larger scale, as the remains of the translucent golden wall fall apart around them. Shepherd is breathing very heavily as he lowers his arms and turns his head towards Bedlam. The eye that looks at him is encircled by more glowing tattoos that he has never seen before. “You’re fine.” Shepherd says quietly. With a tired grunt of effort that only people approaching a certain age make, Shepherd stands up. “Go get the others.” The soft sound of crying abruptly echoes around the chamber as Shepherd slowly limps his way to the middle of the room, his boots making a ragged shuffle-thump-clink noise. As the dust settles, Bedlam sees that it is Lamb, who is kneeling on the floor, his hands covering his face as he begins to sob uncontrollably. He looks completely untouched by the entire debacle. Shepherd crouches down, his knees making an audible popping noise, and holds Lamb tenderly against his chest. Lamb lets go of his face and buries it deep in the middle-aged man's shoulder. He clutches to Shepherd tightly, his small body visibly shaking from the experience. “Shhh. Everything is going to be all right.”